The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts
Chapter 253 - 254: You think this is just about you?

Chapter 253: Chapter 254: You think this is just about you?

For a second, there was silence. That thick, tight kind of silence that wraps around the throat and threatens to snap.

Isabella’s gaze was locked on Opehlia like a hawk zeroed in on a trembling rabbit. Her jaw was clenched, her fingers curling tightly around Glimora’s fur. Even the tiny beast sensed the shift in the air—her fluffy ears dropped flat against her head as she peeked up at her mama’s stiffened expression.

Valen stood nearby, stiff and unsure. His eyes darted between both women, sensing an eruption but not sure who to calm. His hand hovered near Opehlia’s elbow, but he didn’t dare touch her—not now.

"I just think he needs a gentle hand," Opehlia said softly, the words falling like fragile petals into a pit of thorns.

And that was it.

Isabella snapped.

"Gentle hand?!" Her voice cracked through the air like a whip. "This is not gentleness, Opehlia! This is stupidity."

Opehlia flinched like she’d been slapped. Even Glimora let out a small, anxious chirp and hid her face in Isabella’s side.

"No matter how gentle you are," Isabella continued, pacing now, her hands flinging with every word, "you should still have enough sense—basic sense!—not to cradle irredeemable monsters like they’re wounded puppies."

Her words lashed out like fire, and Opehlia looked wounded, like the heat of it was searing her cheeks red. But Isabella didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

"Are these men gonna thank you for your gentleness? Are they going to turn over a new leaf because of your ’light and unbothered river leaf’ philosophy?!"

Valen opened his mouth as if to interject, but wisely closed it again. He stayed where he was, arms crossed, jaw tense.

"I’m beginning to get irritated with you, Opehlia," Isabella said, stopping dead in front of her. "You’re ruining the one clean shot we have to get rid of these scum. They are scum, and you’re there with your flower-picking morals trying to pet them into better people!"

Her voice trembled with fury now—not the kind that came from hatred, but the kind that only came when you were terrified of watching someone you love walk straight into a fire.

"Do you understand what kind of men we’re dealing with?" Isabella hissed, narrowing her eyes. "If we don’t get rid of them now, they won’t just come back—they’ll come back angry. Vengeful. And guess who they’ll come for first?"

Her eyes glinted. "Me."

Opehlia’s lips parted, trembling. "But you already gave them a beating yesterday, didn’t you?" she whispered, as if clinging to that fact like a raft in a storm.

Isabella laughed. Loud. Sharp. Bitter. She tilted her head back like she couldn’t believe what she just heard.

"Oh, baby," she said, tone mocking now. "So that’s your standard? A beating is enough? Is that what you think justice is?"

She stepped in close again, close enough that Glimora tried to nudge herself between the two of them protectively.

"It’s not about the beating," Isabella snapped, "or the bruises I gave, or how many teeth they’ll never grow back. It’s about you. About how you still only see the good in people—like you’re blind to everything else. Like that’s some kind of holy virtue."

Her voice shook, not with weakness, but with the kind of emotion that rises only when fury meets helplessness. She pointed a finger—not just at Opehlia, but at everything she represented in that moment.

"You think this is just about you? That if you forgive them, it ends there?" Her eyes burned now. "What about the other girls? The ones quieter than you. The ones who won’t speak up. The ones who don’t have anyone to protect them. What about them, Opehlia?"

She gestured around them, as if the very walls of the room carried the weight of her words. "You may be willing to risk your own safety, your own heart—but what you’re doing now, this ’gentleness’ you’re clinging to like a threadbare blanket, it doesn’t just put you in danger. It puts all of us in danger."

Her tone sharpened, low and deadly. "Because the moment you let a man like that walk free, you send a message to every bastard like him that they can get away with it. That women here will flinch, cry a little, and then be handed berries and a carved shell and pretend it never happened."

She swallowed hard, her breathing uneven now.

"You may be soft," she whispered, "but don’t be stupid. Kindness without wisdom isn’t kindness—it’s a loaded weapon pointed at every other girl who doesn’t get a chance to fight back."

She took a step back, and this time, her voice dropped low. Tired. Sad.

"Your kindness will get you killed one day, Opehlia."

The air stilled.

Opehlia looked down, her lip trembling, but she said nothing. And maybe that was the worst part—Isabella wanted her to argue back, to fight, to show that there was something in her beyond soft edges and apologetic smiles. But instead, she just stood there, wilting.

Even Valen now looked pained. "Isabella—" he started gently.

"No," Isabella cut in, raising a hand. "Don’t. Don’t defend her. She’s your girl now, you deal with it."

Glimora tapped her leg gently against Isabella’s arm, whining softly—confused and trying to comfort.

Isabella looked down at the little creature and scooped her up, kissing the top of her head as she exhaled slowly. Her chest rose and fell with shaky breaths. Then she turned back to Opehlia, her expression softening just a touch.

"I just hope you start using your brain to think, and not your heart anymore."

And with that, she turned on her heel, Glimora clutched to her chest, and walked straight out of the room—her silhouette stiff with fury, but her pace slow. Controlled. Like a storm that knew exactly where it was going.

Valen and Opehlia stood in silence.

Opehlia’s hands were curled at her sides, and though her eyes were glossy, she blinked rapidly, forcing the tears away.

Behind them, the curtain swayed gently from where Isabella had vanished.

No one said a word for a long, long time.